The Tubes

When it got blazingly, sticky hot in the country we went to the creek. This was an everyday occurrence in the sweltering summer heat. The place we swam was where Bryant Creek meets Double O. There was a sandy gray nondescript concrete slab bridge that met a dusty gravel road on both sides of the river. To allow for water to flow under the bridge it was built over a series of huge, circular aluminum culverts. The locals had aptly named these yawning tunnels ‘The Tubes’. These culverts served as a backwoods water park ride to kids of all sizes and were a blast! You would squat at the opening of a tube and hold onto the top of the arch and let your legs get sucked in by the water and then let go and you would shoot through to the other side from the force of the water. When the river was at its normal volume, the tubes were about one third full. Today was not one of those days. Today, the sparkling blue green water of the Bryant River was way up. Today the tubes were full to capacity and beckoned the water into their gaping mouths from below the water’s surface, creating underwater tornados and making wet sloppy sucking noises.
My youngest cousin, Jennifer, was visiting from the suburbs of Johnson County Kansas. She was used to crystal blue swimming pools and occasionally swimming in a lake. Jennifer was shy. She was always a quiet, reserved girl with not much to say about anything. I was loud, obnoxious, and no one ever accused me of being bashful. We were so different, but we had fun together when we were younger. We had gone to the creek that day to have fun in the river.
Sue, my mother, brought our lint covered, line dried towels down to the rough concrete poured to create a makeshift bank to the river. She warned us to stay as far upstream as we could from the overloaded culverts so we didn’t get sucked in because there was after all a real risk of drowning if one was plugged with debris.
We had been in the water playing for about a half hour, moving away from the culverts several times when Sue would yell at us. I remember looking over my shoulder to check to see how close we were and realized we had gotten very close to the concrete retaining wall that was built to slow the spill of rushing water into the tubes. Most of the time that wall was only halfway under water and intermittently the top of the wall would stick out of the water at the edge of the bridge. Today, however, that retaining wall was completely submerged. I yelled loudly to Jennifer to move back. We fought against the pull of the creek, feet digging into the powdery silt and loose gravel of the river bed, but we didn’t stand a chance against that kind of force. I was around eight years old at the time, tall for my age, and didn’t weigh much. I looked like a walking, talking bean pole. I tried to grab the edge of the jagged, moss covered concrete bank, but it was like trying to grab a greased pig. I was trying to hold on to Jennifer at the same time because she was closer to the culverts. I finally grabbed someone’s leg on shore, and from my look I think they realized what was going on. I couldn’t hold on to Jennifer! Her slender wet hand slipped from mine, and I saw her slip underwater towards the opening under the bridge.
I was screaming her name as I was being hauled out of the water, and Sue came running. She could see that Jennifer was still trying to fight against being sucked into the tubes. But she was underwater, and if she didn’t let go, she would drown. I don’t know if she realized it, or if she just couldn’t hold on anymore and let go. Her tiny body was whipped like a noodle into the second tube.
Sue and I both scurried to the other side of the bridge. Sue ran down the bank on the other side and started crossing the jagged concrete spillway as if to catch Jennifer. I stood on the bridge in a panicked and helpless state. Time had slowed down, and I thought for sure Jennifer was caught under the bridge in a web of tangled tree branches and leaves, or worse, a rusty old piece of a car. Suddenly, like a streak she came shooting out the other side of the bridge. Sue had not made it far enough to catch her and she shot past her into the wider, deeper part of the river. Sue frantically followed her and helped her to the shore. I ran fast down the hardened concrete and through the black sand, but by the time I got to her my knees were wobbly and felt with each new step I would collapse. By the time I reached Jennifer, I was shaking all over. I grabbed her and hugged her as hard as I could, repeating the words, “I’m so sorry”, over and over again into her drenched black curls.
As I let her go, I looked into her stricken ghostly face, and she stared blankly at me. She had thin pink streams of water streaking down her face. Water from her hair was mixed with fresh blood coming from a nasty scrape on her forehead. She turned and walked slowly up the bank like someone sleepwalking in a movie. She turned when she got to the apex of the bridge and headed towards where we had parked the truck. When she got to the truck, she got in her bag that was sitting on the tailgate and pulled something out. I couldn’t tell from a distance what she had needed so badly, but realized as she went to the mirror on the truck and started pulling something through her hair that it was her comb. She was combing her hair. At that moment, I knew that my cousin hated me. How could I have let her go? Why wasn’t I strong enough to pull her out of the water? It was my fault. Jennifer was hurt, and it was entirely my fault. I looked at my mom and started crying. She pulled me into a one armed hug, and we walked up to the bridge. By the time we got to the top, I had confessed I was the reason that Jennifer had gotten hurt, and that I hadn’t been paying attention to how close we were to the bridge, and I couldn’t hold onto her hand and pull her out of the water.
Sue looked at me right in the eye and told me it wasn’t my fault and Jennifer wasn’t mad at me; she was in shock. I had never seen anyone act so strangely. I wasn’t familiar with the effects traumatic events could have on a person. Jennifer combed her hair for at least five minutes with blood running down between her eyes and dripping off her nose. Sue was able to get Jennifer to allow her to wipe up her face and hold a towel to her head, and we packed up the truck and headed home. Jennifer didn’t say anything for about two hours. I wasn’t sure if my mom was right about her not hating me, but I wanted it to be true so badly.
I was upstairs lying down and crying still over what had happened when Jennifer knocked on my door. She wanted to know what I was doing and why I was crying. I told her I was so sorry about what happened at the creek, and I thought she hated me, and I didn’t mean for her to get hurt. She looked at me and told me she knew that. It was an accident. Of course it wasn’t my fault, how silly. I felt the weight of the world lift from my young shoulders and was so relieved I started crying again. I hugged her tight. I was so glad that she was going to be alright.
We didn’t visit the river again during the week that Jennifer was there, but we still had fun in the sun.